“Dear me,” she remarked somewhat frigidly, “that is Mrs. Marmaduke Hewson.”
Jimmie, in the simplicity of his heart, was delighted.
“Yes. A most charming lady. Do you know her?”
“Oh, no; I don't know her, but I know of her.”
Her stress on the preposition signified even deeper and more far-reaching things than the nod of Lord Burleigh in the play.
“What do you know of her?” asked Jimmie, bluntly. Mrs. Hardacre smiled frostily, and her lean shoulders moved in an imperceptible shrug.
“Those matters belong to the realm of unhappy gossip, Mr. Padgate; but I'm afraid the duchess won't find her portrait attractive.”
“It is really rather a good portrait,” said Jimmie, in puzzled modesty.
“That is the pity of it,” replied Mrs. Hardacre, sweetly.
The victim smiled. “Surely the private character of the subject can have nothing to do with a person's judgment of a portrait as a specimen of the painter's art. And besides, Mrs. Hewson is as dear and sweet and true a little woman as I have ever met.”